


Sweet Of You

by errantwheat



Series: Dragon Become Age Stuff [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dragon Age!AU, M/M, hurt but no comfort really, this is a sad one with a little fun in the middle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 08:32:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17825396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errantwheat/pseuds/errantwheat
Summary: A little oneshot from the dragon age au, lots of commenters were curious about Nines’s POV concerning a particular event :)





	Sweet Of You

**Author's Note:**

> This is for you, you angst feinds (it’s not that bad...)  
> Nines’s POV on his and Gavin’s brief breakup :)

Nines had realized very shortly after he and Gavin had argued that he’d been wrong.

Well, not wrong precisely. 

He just hadn’t been entirely truthful with himself. 

It didn’t really matter whether they stayed and fought beside the rebels or remained loyal to the Chantry, the conflict would reach them either way. There was no peaceful solution, he knew that. What truly troubled him, as Gavin had pointed out in his anger, was that he didn’t want things to change. 

Nines had power and influence, control and security in the Circle. It was all he’d ever known, and of course he was never meant to know anything more. He’d be nothing if the rebels brought it down, he’d be nobody, and Maker forbid if instead they failed as he believed they would, he’d be dead. 

But that was selfish of him, as Gavin had said. 

And unsustainable, anyway. The system in which he thrived was broken. If this rebellion failed, others would rise to take its place until they succeeded, for the Chantry would never change its ways. He would lose everything no matter what, so why not lose everything beside somebody who made him happy? 

It hadn’t alarmed him when Gavin didn’t come to his bed that night. He was angry, of course he would need some space, Nines understood. 

He hadn’t just been wrong, after all, he’d practically told Gavin he didn’t matter enough to fight for. That wasn’t what he had meant, but that was how it had certainly sounded. 

Nines had only told half the truth when Gavin had asked him what the demon of desire had shown him at South Reach. In his vision he had felt safe, that much was accurate. Safe, waking up in Gavin’s arms some place bright and warm that he’d never seen before. 

It had struck him as odd at the time. He had never dreamed of running away with somebody who loved him and living the rest of his days happily hidden in some remote village or vast city. He’d truly never even dreamed of being loved. He’d only dreamed of obediently executing the Grand Cleric’s will, pushing pawns around the board as if he wasn’t one himself. He’d thought the demon had simply been incorrect, but now he wasn’t so certain.

Although he was loath to admit it, Nines wasn’t at all very experienced in the area of romantic relationships. He’d never cared for anybody as he did for Gavin. And he did care for Gavin so terribly much, but it was all so unfamiliar to him, so unexpected. 

He hoped he could make Gavin understand how special that made him. 

It wasn’t until the next morning, when Nines searched for Gavin intending to apologize, that he realized he was gone. 

The revelation didn’t strike him suddenly, instead it filled his mind slowly like water, submerging it, gently drowning it. 

Numbly he stirred the concept around. Gavin was gone, Gavin had left him, abandoned him? No, he’d driven Gavin away himself. 

Very well. 

He supposed all he could do was move on. 

North was furious when she found out, naturally. 

“What the hell do you mean he left!?”

“I mean he’s gone.” Nines would have normally responded far more sarcastically to such a superfluous question, but he was profoundly not in the mood at the moment. 

“We have to  _find_  him,” North fumed, “he could give our location to the templars and get us all killed!”

“He left because he wanted to help the rebellion and I told him it was foolish.” Nines could understand North’s worry, but that wasn’t really why he didn’t care to defend himself. He felt unusually tired and apathetic. Empty. It was rather distracting. 

North seemed to detect it in his words. Her frown turned from angry to confused to...concerned. 

The pair of them and a few others were preparing to go scout toward the west, hunting for dwarven lyrium caravans. Certainly they were doing an unfortunate number on the dwarven economy, but it was important that they weaken the templars by depriving them of their power source. The stuff could be used to strengthen one’s magic, as well, so it would be prudent for the mages to gather as much as they could for themselves.

North had known Nines’s opinion on the rebellion. She’d been surprised when he’d volunteered to go with her, and that had also brought attention to the conspicuous absence of a particular templar. 

“Well...I won’t say I’m sorry he’s gone, because I’m not. But you two seemed...close.” 

Nines made some vague sound of agreement. He didn’t care much for conversation at the moment, he just wanted to proceed, to be productive. 

“Are you...okay?”

Admittedly, Nines had only been giving North half the attention she merited. His mind was simply elsewhere, he couldn’t seem to help it. But the question brought her into proper focus. 

And how was he to respond? Was he okay? It was entirely too troublesome to think about. It wasn’t North’s responsibility to comfort him, in any case. Though her concern was kind. 

“I should imagine I’ll survive. He’s only a man.” Nines chose, as he often did, to feign impassivity. 

North laughed at that answer. It was a lovely sound, with a smile just as charming. North’s laughter wasn’t nearly as rare as one might expect, Nines had noticed. She was really quite friendly, if given a moment. 

“Thank the Maker, somebody with sense.” Her smile dimmed into something softer and she grasped Nines’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Just...if you need to talk, I’m here, okay?” 

Her compassion was moving, and unexpected. The solid presence of her hand on his shoulder felt just a touch overwhelming. 

“Thank you, North, that’s kind of you,” Nines responded politely. Of course he still didn’t intend to trouble her. He didn’t need to, anyway. He was fine. Moving on.

 

The others they traveled with were wary of him. He recognized a couple of them from Ferelden’s Circle, knew they recognized him too, as the Grand Cleric’s pet. An untouchable standard, a nightmare, the top of the food chain, a bad omen. The others simply didn’t know him, which was perfectly fine. There was only one that fearlessly introduced himself. 

He wasn’t a mage. Recently mercenaries had begun to flock to Ostagar, like carrion birds to the promise of violence upon which they might profit. Nothing paid like war. Many had heard whispers of the rebellion and sought it out, but far more had originally been hired to guard lyrium caravans like the ones the rebels had been preying upon. They turned coats when they realized they stood a better chance with the mages instead. Of all these mercenaries, perhaps a few even believed in the rebels’ cause. 

The one that accompanied them today called himself Wenry. The others were just as wary of Wenry as they were of Nines, perhaps even more so, because Wenry was a Qunari. 

That wasn’t the correct term, Nines recalled from his reading. The great, horned race of people that hailed from the islands in the north were called Vashoth. The term Qunari described Vashoth that followed a particular religious doctrine, the Qun. The majority of Vashoth were Qunari, and the Qunari ruled their homeland of Par Vollen, but the word didn’t apply to somebody like Wenry. What little people knew of the Qun terrified them, though, as did the Vashoth’s appearance, so they rarely cared to differentiate. Not even mages. Nines found that ironic, that even they were frightened of something they didn’t understand. 

Their unease didn’t last long, though. Wenry was clever and he had an easy smile, and within the first hour of their journey he managed to get the others chatting amicably. Nines wasn’t trying to ignore them, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to pay attention either. He nearly didn’t register it when Wenry addresses him directly. 

“And what about you?” The Vashoth asked him, with a friendly nudge to his shoulder. 

“Pardon?” 

“Molly and Renault are from the tower here in Ferelden, Victor’s from Kirkwall, what about you?” 

“He’s from Kinlock Hold as well, for the most part,” the elven girl beside Wenry snapped. That was Molly. Nines had forgotten her name, but he knew her face. Ironically all he could remember about her was that she’d spent time in the tower’s dungeon for being caught in bed with a templar. 

“For the most part, huh? Some drunk bastard once told me there’s a water fairy living in Lake Calenhad. Is that what you mean?” Cute. The Vashoth’s cheeky, shark-like grin was cute. Nines really wasn’t in the mood to indulge him, though. 

Molly only scoffed. It was obvious she resented Nines. He really didn’t care to understand it, though.

“I’m afraid not. Circumstance simply allowed me to venture out, on occasion,” Nines explained. It was disproportionately exhausting, talking like this. He didn’t really know why. Perhaps it was simply that being around others reminded him how desperately he’d rather be with Gavin. 

“Circumstance, thats awfully mysterious,” Wenry hummed cheerily.  

“‘Circumstance,’ my ass,” Molly said, clearly goading. “He’s a snake. A climber.” 

Would she speak so boldly if they were still in the Circle, Nines wondered. It didn’t really matter now. 

“Shut the hell up, Molly,” North snapped from the front of the group, tossing a glare over her shoulder at the other elf. For an instant, she reminded Nines of Gavin so strongly it hurt. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve her protectiveness, but it stirred a quiet affection in him just as much as it stung. 

“It’s fine,” he said, finally bothering to look at Molly directly. Was it cruel of him to feel satisfied by the way she shrank under his gaze? The familiar sense of command and control made him feel better, just a little. Pushing pawns around. “Please, I’d prefer to resolve this now rather than suffer a dagger in the back later. Speak your mind, Molly.” 

She scowled at him, seeming to find her courage again. “We were all terrified of you. They let you walk around like you were made of fucking gold when you were a good little bitch, but now here you are. You’re no better than all the rest of us.” 

Jealously, then. She was jealous that he hadn’t had to suffer as much as she had. Perhaps jealous that he hadn’t been punished for his affair with Gavin, however brief it was. And she seemed to suspect his allegiance was motivated by personal gain, as well. 

“You’re right,” Nines responded simply. She wasn’t entirely right. He was confident he’d demolish her in combat. His privilege hadn’t been due to circumstance alone, after all. But pointing that out would be counterproductive. She was right in that he was here, fighting for the same cause, despite how well the Chantry had treated him, relatively. Because they were wrong, even if they’d been kind to him. 

She seemed dissatisfied with his reply. She didn’t want compromise, she wanted to fight. She wanted some sort of retribution or justice. Nines couldn’t really blame her. “I’m going to scout ahead,” she announced angrily. She turned herself into a bird and fluttered away. 

Silence followed. Nines was sure it was uncomfortable for the others, but he didn’t mind. He was so terribly tired. 

Of course Wenry spoke up, after a moment. He seemed to dislike quiet. “Hey, I’m uh...sorry about that, I didn’t-“

“You didn’t know,” Nines agreed. It occurred to him to smile. He knew how severe he looked to others, but he didn’t think he could produce a smile that would look convincing at the moment, so he didn't. To compensate, he added, “It’s alright. Would you like to tell us where you’re from? Or have you already? I hope you can forgive me, I’m afraid I wasn’t paying much attention.” 

The Vashoth offered him another sharp grin. 

 

When Molly returned she informed them that there was a caravan ahead. “There’s double the usual guard, armed to the teeth,” she said. “I think they’re getting sick of losing product.” 

“We can handle it,” North insisted, a determined smile on her face. They could. No matter how many guards there were, nothing short of a platoon of templars could stop five mages and a Vashoth. 

The trees were beginning to thin, the road would soon be in view. 

A bird called overhead, sharp and loud. Molly looked up, alarmed. “Scouts,” she breathed. They could hear a commotion ahead, the caravan alerted and fleeing.

“Go,” North snapped, looking to Nines. Without a word he advanced as swiftly as magic would allow, materializing again in the road a way behind the escaping wagon. With a grasping motion he bid it to halt. The horses drawing the thing screamed, frightened at suddenly being rendered immobile. The people riding it shouted, thrown by the abrupt halt in momentum. 

Nines had to focus to hold it still. He had to ignore the angry dwarves taking aim with their bows and the mercenaries racing toward him on horses. 

The first of his companions to catch up was Molly. Nines hadn’t noticed her immediately, she was a bird circling overhead, but then she swooped down and became a bear, frightening the mercenaries’ horses and causing them to lose control. A few were even thrown to the ground. At least Nines could count on her in a fight. 

Next came Wenry, with his twin axes drawn and a wild grin on his face. He engaged with the mercenaries and guards on the ground. 

His strength was incredible to behold. He could simply pick the dwarven guards up and throw them away when their numbers began to overwhelm him, and the human mercenaries soon abandoned their shields, for even the strongest among them found that trying to block his brutal blows seemed to hurt them more than it helped. He was having such fun, too, shouting and laughing and daring more to come forward and try him. 

The others joined as well, North snatched the remaining mercenaries from their mounts with flashing whips of flame. Nines had to acknowledge that her command of fire was more graceful than his own. Less explosive and overbearing. 

Victor’s talents lied in the manipulation of the mind. By his will opponents would suddenly turn on their fellows or become consumed with disembodied terror and flee. 

Renault hung back, healing their wounds from a distance and shielding them with magical barriers. 

They were quite outnumbered and it didn’t matter. They were winning. 

Just as he dared to think it, Nines felt a blade slip under his ribs from behind. 

He couldn’t make a sound, all the air left his lungs suddenly. The first strike was quickly followed by a deep, purposeful slash to his right calf that brought him to his knees. 

“The wagon!” Nines heard Victor shout, distantly. 

His assailant danced around him, daggers flashing. It was a dwarf, his face shrouded by a hood, but Nines could see the mark of the Casteless tattooed over his brow. 

Molly became a bird again and darted after the wagon. Wenry looked overwhelmed, dwarven rogues wielding daggers and wearing armor similar to the one engaged with Nines at the moment were slashing and stabbing at him from all angles. It seemed the lyrium traders had turned to hiring Carta cutthroats to protect their goods. Or perhaps they’d happened upon one of the gang’s own illicit caravans this time. Unlucky. 

North and Victor were doing their best to support Wenry, flinging spells left and right. Renault was trying to fend off a mercenary that had given up on the Vashoth and decided to go for an easier target. 

The dwarf moved in again, with a flourish he wrenched Nines’s head back by his hair and made to slash his throat. 

Nines caught the blade with his hand, gritting his teeth at the pain as it bit deep into his palm. His other hand he wrapped around the dwarf’s wrist, struggling to keep him at bay. 

Inside him he felt something, and he didn’t think it was his lungs collapsing. It was a little spark, a pilot light, something _other_ , something indignant and offended. And wickedly, sadistically amused. _How dare you_ , it seemed to purr. He could almost hear the words curling through his mind like smoke. Dimly Nines recalled feeling this way before, when the demon of desire had tried to possess him. 

The dwarf started to scream and struggle in his grasp. Nines had a suspicion regarding why. Through the spots in his vision he could see the blade in his hand had turned white hot and begun to melt. The dwarf had begun to melt, as well. 

Nines let go of him, let him stumble away, confident he’d burn away into nothing like the demon had. The grass where he laid his hands as he fell forward burned and the ground beneath became molten and black. He tried to focus, to breathe, to heal himself, but he was so dizzy. Was he suffocating or bleeding to death? Probably both. Bloody hell, he was even being careful this time. 

Vaguely he registered hands on him. He couldn’t seem to care whether they were friendly. Someone called his name from far away, but he couldn’t discern who. If he narrowed his eyes he could see the wagon. It didn’t seem to be moving, that was good. Mission successful. 

He missed Gavin. 

 

“What the hell did you _do_?” Molly demanded, seizing Nines by his coat. Pride alone kept him from wincing at the twinge of pain in his chest and back. 

“For fuck’s sake, Molly,” Renault complained, his work interrupted. He steadied Nines by his shoulders and resumed trying to heal him. 

“I want to know what the hell _that_ _was_ ,” Molly insisted, jabbing a finger at the pile of black stone that had once been a dwarf. Nines decided not to say as much, he didn’t suspect Molly wouldn’t take well to the grim joke. 

“I don’t know,” he replied instead. That didn’t seem to satisfy her either. 

“It was efficient,” Wenry chimed beside Nines. He was injured as well, but in less urgent need of care. Just scratches here and there, ‘leave the ones that’ll make cool scars, would you?’ he’d said to Renault. He was sitting close to Nines, almost protectively. Like Gavin would, but more subtly. Maker’s fucking balls, Nines needed to stop thinking about Gavin. 

“It was a _demon_ ,” Molly retorted. Now there was an interesting point. ‘You’re already filthy,’ the demon of desire had said to him as it died. Was that what it had meant, that he was already possessed? 

“Let it go for now, Molly, we’re busy,” North commanded sharply. She was in the wagon, taking stock of what was there. Victor was minding those that had surrendered, rendering them unconscious with his magic. The caravan hadn’t belonged to the Carta, which was fortunate. It would be a mistake for the rebels to make an enemy of the veritable criminal empire. 

Molly threw Nines one last scowl and then climbed into the wagon to help North. 

“If I’m honest,” Wenry muttered, leaning close, “everything you guys do seems like some demon shit to me.” 

“It’s all rather closely related, in theory,” Nines replied, amused. 

“‘In theory,’ do you know what you sound like?” 

“A stuck up ponce,” Nines hummed, thinking of Gavin again, fondness twisting in his chest, “an Orlesian bastard, perhaps.” 

Wenry laughed at that, bumping their shoulders together. “Don’t take offense, but I hadn’t expected someone pretty as you to talk like that.” 

“I have quite the extensive fucking vocabulary. I read a lot of books.” And keep colorful company. Until recently. Fuck, _stop_. Moving on. 

Wenry laughed again. It was a nice laugh, open and unreserved. _Moving on_ , Nines mused again to himself, watching the man smile and trying to feel its warmth. He couldn't properly reach it like he might before, though. He was ever aware of this aching, vast emptiness inside him. He wanted it gone, he wanted to _get over it_. 

 

On the night of their victorious return Nines found himself pressed to a wall out of sight with Wenry’s tongue in his mouth and hands on his body. 

It was wonderful, frankly. Wenry was big and warm and gentle. He was appreciative, he was sweet, he was careful. He held Nines like something precious. 

“I- Wenry, I’d like to be honest with you,” Nines said, catching his breath. Wenry gave him some space, just a little, looking at him quizzically but affectionately. 

“I’ve recently...had a falling out with someone very dear to me. I’d like to be...distracted. Without any strings attached. Is that...something you’re comfortable with?” Nines really, really didn’t want to hurt anybody else. 

“Would I be getting in the middle of anything if we...?”

“No. I think it’s...over.” It hurt to say, but it was true. Gavin was _gone_. 

“Then I think I can give you what you want,” Wenry said, voice soft and low with a flash of teeth. 

 

Nines woke the next morning in his bed alone, with a delightful ache all over. For just a moment he could bask in it, in the bruises and bites so lovingly laid into his skin, in the shadows of reverent touches he’d enjoyed the night before. The memory of long, adoring kisses and sweet words that had lulled him to sleep. Wenry had slipped away at some point, of course. _No strings attached_. 

It had been lovely, but it hadn’t fixed anything. Nines still felt miserable, perhaps more than before. He missed Gavin fiercely, he was _lonely_ , he was _heartbroken_ , and he didn’t know how to make it stop. Now that he acknowledged it, it was overwhelming. Nines had never been heartbroken before. Should he cry? He didn’t want to cry, he just wanted to stop feeling like this. 

Maker, how pathetic. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading !!


End file.
